After The Well
by teacups-and-murder
Summary: A short ficlet on what takes place after John finds himself on dry land again. Written as bromance, but Johnlock if you squint. Spoilers for The Final Problem.


John didn't realize how exhausted he was until he sat down.

For a while the adrenaline had kept him going. Wrapped in a warm blanket from a nearby ambulance, he could have forgotten that he'd just spent hours in a well wondering whether or not he'd ever see sunlight again.

But then, the scene was taken care of. Eurus was gone. Everyone was safe and sound. It was time to go home. Sherlock's old home, Musgrave, was far out in the country. It would take a long train ride to get back into the city. Back home.

John still had the thick blanket wrapped around his shoulders when he and Sherlock slipped into the car Mycroft had provided to take them to the nearest train station. It was the first time John had sat down since he'd been pulled out of the well. He let out a breath and leaned his head back against the seat. It was bizarre, he realized as both the doors closed, to be out of the chaos and in the quiet. He looked over at Sherlock who appeared a bit shell-shocked as well. "You alright?" John asked.

Sherlock appeared surprised by the question. He looked over at his friend and then back ahead. "I wasn't the one at the bottom of a well."

"Yeah, but you were the one being tortured by your psychotic sister." John instantly fired back.

Sherlock didn't seem fazed by the comment. His gaze was turned out the window as the car began to pull away. "I'm still processing…" he muttered, eyes flicking rapidly back and forth. John could practically see the thoughts flying through his head at a million miles a minute.

"Right." John said and leaned his head back again. It was obvious Sherlock wasn't going to do much talking during their trip. "How long to the nearest train station?" he asked, hoping to get that out of Sherlock before he completely shut down.

"Forty minutes."

John sighed, staring up at the car's ceiling. This was going to be the longest forty minutes of his life…

He didn't remember falling asleep. It was as though he was suddenly aware the car had stopped and a light had turned on. John sat up from his slumped position against the window, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Suddenly his door was opening and Sherlock was standing outside. "Nearly home." Sherlock said gently, reaching out to take John's hand and helping him out of the car. John suppressed a groan. His entire body ached.

"If by nearly home you mean 'we still have a six hour train ride to go' then sure." John mumbled, voice thick with sleep. He'd really been out of it.

"I was trying to be encouraging." Sherlock replied as the two walked towards the station, the car pulling away behind them. "You can sleep more on the train." he promised. John nodded, pulling his blanket more tightly around himself as a shiver ran through his shoulders.

Soon John and Sherlock were on the train. Sherlock was beside the window, still deeply lost in his own thoughts. John didn't try talking to him. He knew it was pointless. He just hoped the detective was alright under that thinking face he had so solidly put in place. John didn't have the mental capacity to worry about it for too long. He was asleep again before the train even started moving…

John wasn't sure why he woke up next. He was still knackered beyond belief. Then he realized he was slouched against Sherlock, head resting against his arm. "Mm, sorry, mate." he hummed, sitting up in his seat and rubbing his eyes tiredly. "How long 've I been out?" He blinked in confusion as he waited for Sherlock's answer that never came. "Sher-" he started to ask and then cut himself short as he looked over at his friend.

Sherlock's head was resting against the window. His features completely relaxed. The window had fogged up next to him as Sherlock's hot puffs of breath left his parted lips. The consulting detective was completely dead to the world.

John couldn't help but be relieved. God knew Sherlock needed the rest. As John watched, a light snore passed Sherlock's lips and John couldn't help but smirk. He checked his watch and guessed they still had about three and a half hours left. He hesitated for a moment and then leaned back against Sherlock's shoulder. The detective wouldn't mind…

In the end, an attendant had to wake the two when they were in London. Nothing was said as they left the station with Sherlock's hair completely flattened on one side and a bit of dried drool on John's cheek with a matching damp spot on Sherlock's coat…


End file.
